


together, or not at all

by ladydetective



Category: Book of the Ancestor Series - Mark Lawrence
Genre: APPLE LIVES, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, F/F, Fix-It, Revive Your Gays, depiction of injury
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-23
Updated: 2020-08-23
Packaged: 2021-03-06 20:48:25
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,609
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26065270
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ladydetective/pseuds/ladydetective
Summary: Apple Lives(Spoilers for Holy Sister)
Relationships: Nona Grey/Arabella Jotsis, Sister Apple/Sister Kettle
Comments: 10
Kudos: 23





	together, or not at all

**Author's Note:**

> SO I mostly really enjoyed this series, but had big problems with Holy Sister. One of these issues was that Apple's death hit me really hard - I just want them to be happy, dammit. So I decided to write fic for the first time in years. Enjoy!! Please let me know what you think in the comments section.

When Kettle saw Apple’s body, her heart shattered.

In death, Apple’s hair had won its constant battle and fallen loose of her habit, sprawling uncontained on a pavement that was quickly becoming stained with blood, Sister of Sweet Mercy and Scithrowl alike. Her hands, unmoving, rested on the wound that had killed her. Kettle stared at it, self-loathing rising within her to join the grief she was sure would be her shroud for years to come. She had _promised_ her lover that no arrow would pierce her, not whilst she herself still drew breath. If only she’d been quicker, stronger, more diligent – but she hadn’t been, and now Apple was dead. Kettle had failed her.

Heedless of the eyes Kettle knew were on her, she curled herself around Apple’s body and wept. Few sounds escaped from her lips, because the grief she felt was beyond that. Apple ~~is~~ _was_ her whole world, her whole life. She had been since she was a mere novice of seventeen, and Apple a worldly, experienced Grey Sister just returned from an extended mission.

As Kettle grasped her lover’s hands, she stilled. They were still warm. That should not have been possible – she had taken that spear hours ago, near the beginning of the battle. The heat should have left them long ago. Cautiously, heart thrumming with a traitorous gleam of hope, Kettle raised her hands to examine the wound.

It was as gruesome as she could expect it to be – the spear had punctured straight through her body, leaving a mess behind, but – crucially – her blood appeared to be clotting.

The blood of dead bodies didn’t clot.

Kettle’s heart began hammering even more furiously now, her previous gleam of hope transforming into a spark that fired up her brain into working a million miles an hour. She closed her eyes, concentrating more intensely than she had in her entire life. She’d tried to reach out to Apple through their shadow-bond earlier in the battle and had been gutted by the terrifying silence that awaited her at the other end. She hadn’t tried again since, fearing the confirmation of what her heart had already known.

But perhaps – _perhaps_ – their bond had not been shattered after all, merely… weakened, by the severity of Apple’s injury. Kettle pushed, searching for something, _anything_ that would tell her she was still alive. _There!_ It wasn’t much – the faintest whisper of their connection that had, in the past, rivalled a full marjal thread-bond in strength – but it was enough.

Apple was alive.

But _how?_ A wound this severe ought to have killed her hours ago. Kettle’s brow furrowed as she examined her body – it was entirely still. None but the dead should be that still, even the mortally injured. This was not natural. Kettle’s eyes flickered to Apple’s coat, inside of which any number of poisons and antidotes resided. She must have realised how badly injured she was and taken something to mitigate the harm.

But what could it have been? A dozen likely candidates flitted through her mind, but an old memory pushed them aside as it made its way to the forefront. Arabella Jotsis, immobilised in a similar manner after her first Shade lesson.

Lock-up. Could it really be that simple? Could Apple be lying between life and death now due to a substance so simple it was taught to Red Class novices? She pawed at the cloak that she and all Sisters of Discretion wore, searching for the antidote that had once been administered to Arabella. It wasn’t there – there hadn’t been much time to refill her stores when she’d gotten her marching orders, and she’d occupied what little time she had grabbing the potions and poisons that would be of most use in combat. She hadn’t considered that the life of the one she loved most may hinge on this novice antidote. Apple’s own coat was likewise poorly stocked – precious vials had probably fallen away in the heat of battle.

Kettle’s hands were shaking as she rose from Apple’s side. ‘Help me,’ she cried, her voice hoarse and muted from crying. She tried again, drawing not from the patience or serenity trances that were usually so pivotal to Grey Sisters but rather the well of anger inside her that Nona Grey had admitted to using whenever she needed to draw upon her power.

‘HELP ME’ she roared, her voice strong and furious. She would NOT let Apple die like this. Her words had the desired effect, numerous nuns and novices turning to her direction.

‘Help me,’ she repeated, quieter this time but just as firm. ‘She’s still alive.’ The faces of the assembled convent members registered pity even through their own grief for various fallen comrades. They thought her mad, twisted by grief.

Perhaps she was. Perhaps this was all a fool’s errand, and Apple would die of her injuries even if her theory was correct. But that would not happen while Kettle drew breath. She would not fail her again. Kettle’s eyes found Nona’s in the crowd, and noticed the Grey cloak over her shoulders. She’d been given that before their infiltration of the Scithrowl camp! Nona wasn’t a natural poisoner, and likely would not have used many of the vials within. She should be in possession of the antidote.

‘Nona, please,’ she said, desperation in her voice, ‘I need you.’

Nona came to her side at once, concern lacing her expression. She looked at Apple’s body and Kettle saw grief in her eyes – the grief of one who’d lost too many friends this night. The newly minted nun raised a tentative hand to Kettle’s shoulder and said, ‘Sister, I’m sorry.’

Kettle shook Nona’s hand off. ‘Don’t. She’s not dead. She might be dying, but she’s not dead. We can help her – we must help her. She’s given herself lock-up to stem her injury, but needs the antidote to be treated now the battle’s over.’

Doubt was written plainly across Nona’s face, but there was hope there too. She’d never been one to give up on her friends – Kettle dimly remembered how she’d clung to that gerant girl, Darla, as she lay dying on Sherzal’s mountaintop. She hadn’t given up hope there until it was truly lost. The girl – young woman, really - slung off her Grey cloak and searched through it for the antidote.

‘Here,’ she said, handing a small vial to Kettle. Kettle took it in her hands – it was a tiny amount, really, but should be enough. With trembling fingers, she uncorked it. She tipped Apple’s head back and poured it down her throat.

For a sickening moment, nothing happened. Kettle could feel the spark of hope that had been fuelling her sputter and die, but then Apple moaned. It wasn’t loud, and truthfully it could have belonged to any one of the dying or bereaved people in the Cathedral, but Kettle knew it came from Apple. She could feel their shadow-bond, weakened as it was, begin to grow stronger. In that moment, Kettle’s belief in the Ancestor had never been stronger.

Nona must have also heard her, for she immediately began to shout. ‘Medic! We need a medic over here! She isn’t dead!’

This attracted the attention of the surrounding room – they hadn’t been willing to take Kettle’s word for it, perhaps believing her to be nothing more than a grieving partner, but the nun who’d moved the moon commanded a certain degree of authority. A marjal healer – not Sister Rose, whom Kettle believed to be still at the convent – came over at once. She moved over to allow him to examine Apple, but kept a tight hold on her hand.

The healer looked grave. ‘This is a very serious injury. She’s lucky to be alive.’

Kettle couldn’t bring herself to say the words. Luckily, Nona had no such compunctions. ‘Can you save her?’ the new Holy Sister demanded, still every inch the same angry novice Kettle had taught how to read.

The man seemed to ponder the question as he continued to examine the wound. ‘I think so,’ he said, slowly. ‘But she cannot be moved. The rest of your order are loading your wounded onto wagons to be treated at the convent, but I fear she cannot survive such a journey. I will have to treat her here.’

‘But it can be done?,’ Kettle asked, her voice weak. The previous anger that had marshalled her had dissipated, leaving only a clawing worry. She’d done all she could do – Apple was in the Ancestor’s hands now, and those of this healer.

‘Nothing is certain in magic or medicine,’ he hesitated, ‘But am I right in believing she’s a marjal prime?’

Kettle nodded, not trusting herself to speak. Once again, Nona responded for her. ‘What difference does that make?’

‘Marjal healing works best on marjals, and even more so on a prime. Now please, let me work. We have no time to lose.’

* * *

The intervening hours were the worst of Kettle’s life. Judging by the expression on the marjal healer’s face, she came close to losing Apple all over again at multiple points. He had told her that if she couldn’t bear to watch, she should wait outside. Kettle ignored him – if these really were Apple’s last hours, she would not leave her side, not a second time.

Nona stayed with her throughout, occasionally passing the healer the tools he needed to complete his work. She wore an expression of total determination on her face – it was one that Kettle recognised, for she had worn it on the night that she had refused to let Kettle die on the Grey ranging. Nona was not someone who let her friends go lightly. Both she and Apple would be eternally in her debt for it.

Before long, their vigil was joined by some remaining members of the Convent – those who had not been injured enough to travel back to Sweet Mercy right away. Jula led prayers to the Ancestor thanking him for Apple’s miraculous survival and imploring him to give her the strength she needed to recover. Ruli, ever bright and cheerful, passed around food and drink she’d somehow managed to scrounge up and did her best to lift the mood – though Kettle noticed that there was a shadow behind her eyes, indicating she was not as buoyant as she pretended to be. Arabella was mostly quiet, but kept a close eye on Nona. She looked at the other girl the way that Kettle looked at Apple. She hoped they’d realise their feelings for one another soon, for life was not as long as it sometimes felt.

After several hours, the healer put down his tool with a weary sigh. ‘I’ve done all I can for her. She’s not in danger of immediate death, and should be stable enough to ride the wagon to Sweet Mercy, but her recovery will be a long one. If you’ll excuse me, there are more patients I should see to.’

The relief Kettle felt was too great to put into words. It was as if a massive weight had lifted off her chest. As the novices – new nuns, really, most had taken emergency Holy Orders before the battle – around her celebrated, Kettle felt tears sting her face for what must have been the hundredth time that night. This time, however, they were tears of happiness. Apple had made it. She was alive. The road ahead of her may be a long one, but it was one they would walk together.

* * *

None of them particularly wanted to stay in Verity for very long after Apple had been cleared for transportation. Even with the happy news of her survival, there had still been too much death, too much destruction. Kettle had not honestly noticed what had been going on around her in her cloud of grief, but their casualties had been immense. Sisters Pan, Tallow, Rock and Iron had died, not to mention dozens of novices and Abbess Wheel herself. It was unclear what was in store for the Convent with so many dead – Kettle realised with a start that, as a Senior Sister, Apple could technically become the Abbess as soon as she was out of her bandages. It was a strange thought – she was not certain how well her lover would take to running the entire convent, she had always seemed content down in the Shade caverns, teaching her students and listening to the reports of her Grey Sisters.

Thoughts for a later date. Apple had not yet awoken from unconsciousness, though she was told that this was to be expected. It was unlikely that she would rise before her body had achieved a certain amount of natural healing. Kettle smoothed the other woman’s hair, content to be making this journey with her. She could very well have been making it alone – had she been much later in discovering the ruse, or if Apple had not thought to use lock-up in the first place – then she almost certainly would have been. She shuddered at the thought. It was not worth considering.

Instead, she turned towards Nona, who wore a half-smile as she watched them. ‘I wanted to thank you, Nona. We wouldn’t be here if not for you.’

The girl shook her head. ‘Too many of my friends have died. I wasn’t going to let that happen again.’ She paused, considering. ‘Sister Kettle… how do you know when you’re in love?’

Kettle laughed. _Ancestor_ , it felt good to laugh after the night she’d had. ‘Nona Grey, are you in love with someone?’

Nona blushed, and glanced over to the other side of the cart where Arabella Jotsis was sitting in a way she probably believed was subtle. Kettle’s expression softened as she took this in, and glanced down fondly at Apple before responding. ‘It’s just something that you know, eventually.’

* * *

Apple came around to the familiar scent of the Sweet Mercy sanitorium. She’d spent many an hour here from when she was a young novice, full of cuts and scrapes from over-exuberant training to only recently as Mistress Shade, whose experimental mixtures sometimes went unavoidably wrong. Never had she been quite so relieved to be here, however. Her wound had been severe, she’d known, and her ingestion of lock-up had been a last, desperate act. The chance that she’d be distinguishable from a corpse in the heat of battle was a slim one, but she’d had faith that Kettle would check.

Kettle. If Apple was here, then Kettle must have survived the battle also. She opened her eyes and, in her eagerness, was unprepared for the stab of pain that erupted from her stomach. She let out a hiss of pain. ‘Kettle?’ she asked, her voice more feeble than she realised it would be.

‘Sister Apple! You’re awake, Praise the Ancestor. It was doubtful whether or not you would, for a while, but we all had faith.’ It was not Kettle who responded to her but rather the kind voice of Sister Rose. Fear coiled in her gut, intermingling with the pain from her existing wound to create an altogether unpleasant sensation. If Kettle was alive, if she had survived the battle, surely she would be here? Surely it had been she who had freed her from lock-up? But perhaps…perhaps it had been one of her students who had noticed… she had always instructed them to exert diligence and caution, after all… Her fear began to rise, and she tried to make contact through their shadow-bond, as she had done a thousand times before. Alas, in her current state, even such simple magic seemed beyond her.

‘Kettle…’ she said again. Some of her worry must have shown itself in her expression, because Sister Rose immediately began placating her.

‘Kettle is fine, dear. She has been at your side constantly – but I had to send her away to get some proper rest. She was worrying herself ill – you’ve been out cold for three days.’

Apple felt relief like she’d never felt before. They’d both survived, thank the Ancestor. But she had to see her, to confirm for herself that what Rose said was the truth. ‘Get her….please.’ The weakness she could hear in her own voice was frustrating, but she supposed it was to be expected.

Rose looked at her with understanding in her eyes – she’d never been as judgemental about their relationship as some of the Sisters had been, Wheel foremost amongst them – but was nevertheless firm when she spoke. ‘I will, but you must first drink something. Here,’ she produced a glass of water and moved to assist her in drinking it, ‘It’s been a struggle to keep you hydrated whilst you were unconscious.’

Apple did as instructed and managed to finish about half of the offered glass. Rose nodded, satisfied, and said, ‘I will send a novice to fetch her for you now. But please, do not overexert yourself. You have a long recovery ahead of you. I’m going to get you some broth and I want you to eat as much of it as you can while she is here.’

She murmured her assent – her voice already feeling a little stronger, much to her own delight – and Rose nodded, satisfied. The older nun left to carry out her promise, and Apple – not wanting to surrender to the sleep that was already beckoning her before she at least saw Kettle again – occupied her eyes by taking in her surroundings. She was far from the sanitorium’s only resident. In fact, it was more full than Apple had ever seen it. The battle must have been hard on the Convent. She wondered which among their number had been lost forever – judging from the state of affairs when she’d taken her wound, she feared it was many.

Her melancholy musings were interrupted by the arrival of Kettle. Usually the most discrete of all her Sisters of Discretion, there was no indication of such caution now. Her cheeks were flushed and her chest heaving – she must have ran all the way here from the Shade cavern. The sight of her lifted Kettle’s heart as warm relief flooded her system. Until this moment – until she’d seen that Kettle was alive with her own eyes – she had not truly believed that they’d both made it out of the battle alive.

Kettle ran towards Apple’s sickbed and threw her arms around her – everything. Apple raised her weak arms to meet Kettle’s embrace and both stayed that way for a while, intermittently sobbing with relief. Neither had thought they’d be able to do this again.

After a period of time that could have been minutes or hours, they released one another and Kettle settled herself on the chair next to Apple’s bed, taking her hand as she did so. ‘How do you feel, Appy?’ she asked, concern lacing her voice.

Apple smiled at the old nickname. She hadn’t liked it at first, but Kettle had been using it as a term of endearment for so many years that it had stuck and now she was rather fond of it. She paused, considering the other woman’s question. The wound in her stomach was truly painful, and even the simplest movements were exhausting. She could not remember, even after almost two decades of being a Grey Sister and the Mistress Shade, ever being this hurt. But she was alive, and so was Kettle. ‘In pain,’ she answered truthfully, ‘but better now that you are with me.’

She took a breath, wincing at the throb in her stomach. She was reluctant to break the happy moment, but she had to know. ‘The battle…how did it go?’

Kettle’s face clouded. ‘We won. Nona Grey took control of the Ark and the Scithrowl fled at the sight of it. Sherzel is dead. But… our losses. They were severe. Sisters Pan, Tallow, Rock and Iron are dead, along with many novices and Abbess Wheel herself.’

Apple closed her eyes. So many Sisters taken to meet the Ancestor before their time. Many inhabitants of the Convent of Sweet Mercy either had no family or had a poor relationship with the ones that they had. Apple herself was no different. Your sisters became your family. To lose so many in a single night… unthinkable. Apple was not the most devout Sister of Sweet Mercy – Grey Sisters seldom were, for their work required a certain degree of distastefulness that the most holy could not handle – but she said a quick prayer for them nevertheless.

She opened her eyes again – not an easy feat, for the her exhaustion was trying to drag her under once more – and looked at Kettle. ‘Ancestor save them,’ she said. ‘At least we both made it out alive. Though only barely, in my case.’

Kettle’s lip trembled. She gripped her hand more firmly. ‘I thought I’d lost you. When I made it the the Cathedral and saw your body with the rest of the corpses, I thought you were dead. I felt my heart shatter and break.’

Apple’s own heart constricted hearing the anguish in her lover’s voice. She forced herself into a sitting position, ignoring the screams of protest her body made. This was more important – she’d handle Sister Rose’s complaints later. She took Kettle’s face in her hands, and stared directly into the dark eyes of the woman she loved. ‘I’m sorry you felt like that. I remember what it felt like to think I’d lost you, that night all those years ago on the ranging. But we survived that, and we’ll survive this. Together.’

A watery smile played across Kettle’s lips. ‘Together.’

**Author's Note:**

> anyway as far as i'm concerned, this is canon. i tried to write it in such a way that it would be believable so it could substitute what actually happened in my mind lol. i intend to write more fic for this pairing, most of it assuming that this fic is canon


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